


Two Free Droids and the Rest of Their Lives

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Androids, Comfort, Longing, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C-3PO decides to upgrade his body to have a humanoid appearance and R2-D2 struggles with the change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Free Droids and the Rest of Their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009

Droid models were constantly being updated. Newer, more competent designs came out every year, replacing the old and rendering them useless. Still, upgrades could always be made to older models if one desired and C-3PO, now a free droid, so desired.

Human-cyborg relations droids were particularly good candidates for the Life Form Upgrade, which was exactly as it sounded—a synthetic yet flawless representation of any biological race in the universe.

For certain types of droids, this upgrade did not make any logical sense. For astromech droids, such as R2-D2, whose purpose was to restore machinery, to upgrade in this particular manner would be a step backwards. His form suited his function as it was; any alteration would give him less room to store his tools and his functionality would stagger. Therefore, the repair droid stayed the same.

However, for 3PO, it did make sense. Two years after the galaxy had exhaled a sigh of relief after the destruction of The Empire, the communications droid made the choice to undergo this transformation.

For a droid so old, it was easier to start from scratch. 3PO’s cranial chip, everything a droid could equate to conscious being, was safely transported into a new, custom-made form. It was hardly a surprise that 3PO chose a humanoid shape to embody. After all, they had taught him the most.

For him, the upgrade was a simple and obvious choice. His adventure with Luke was over, the universe was safe, and he was now free of any service or obligations and registered as a droid with rights and honors. To have a humanoid appearance was to save him the trouble of needing to reveal his paperwork every time a disgruntled vender or waiter thought he may have less rights than others.

R2 would live with 3PO, of course, and the mechanic need not worry about his own paperwork for any droid accompanying a human was never questioned. And now, 3PO truly did look human—so human, in fact, that R2 almost doubted his sensors when he approached his partner who was sitting on what the upgrading facility would deem a hospital bed.

“So, how do I look?”

His voice was exactly the same but clearer, free from that hint of metallic echo that it held before. The question was asked timidly; a nervous smile perked at the corners of his new mouth as if to reveal that he personally liked his upgrade, but it was ultimately R2’s opinion that he valued.

The smile was shocking. It was so subtle, but it was also the very first of many expressions he was to wear. It was such a dramatic change to now have a moveable face; one that could open its lips, one that could blink.

R2 watched his friend’s mouth as he spoke and contemplated the odd phenomenon. Of course, it was not the first time he had seen a human speak, but this one had 3PO’s vocals.

The smaller droid blipped a response,  
  
“ _Different_.”

“Well I know I look different,” 3PO stuttered, moving a strand of golden hair behind his ear.

Ears. He had ears. And hair to tuck. And fingers to tuck it with. R2 was distracted by all of these things.

”But is it different good or different bad? You’re allowed to have an opinion, I don’t mind,” 3PO said, even though the last part wasn’t entirely true.

” _Different human.”_   R2 beeped.

3PO smiled fully, and what a smile it was.

”Fair enough. I’m not, though,” He beamed, gently knocking on his head as if he expected it to make a hollow sound, “Still a droid.”

When R2 was silent, 3PO added,

“It’s…for the best, really. It’ll make our lives much easier.”

Of course R2 knew it would, but it was so much to take in at once. His circuits were unsettled at the thought of the golden body that had been to so many corners of space was now scrap metal. To him, it was too holy to have a trash heap for a grave and the fact that 3PO didn’t also think so made his core pang.

” _Can we go now? I mean, can you leave the repair shop?”_

”Yes,” 3PO answered quietly.

 _”Let’s go then.”_  
  
”Okay.”  
  
The entire walk home R2 watched his friend’s knees bend naturally and his arms swing freely at his sides. He counted how many times he blinked and watched how his hair moved in the breeze. In the sunlight the thin, white robe of a nightdress alluded to the new body underneath.

 

\--

 

The house had been purchased weeks before but the first time the two droids moved into it was the same day that 3PO had been upgraded.

It had been purposefully planned this way so that they did not first meet their neighbors and then have to explain to them why one droid was then suddenly humanoid. Neither wanted to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves.

However, no neighbors were to be met today. All the droids felt like doing was warming up to their new abode.

The house was humble but quaint and suited their needs perfectly. It was one story to save R2 the trouble of stairs and had a total of four rooms, a kitchen, and a large living space. The floors were smooth title, no harsh grooves or carpet for him to trifle with.

Since neither needed to eat or sleep, the bedrooms would be divided evenly between them so they could each decorate it with their own personal interests. 3PO had already confessed that he would like to make one of his a library.

“I was thinking we could turn the kitchen into a garage for you since most of the outlets are in there,” 3PO offered, still checking every room and mapping out the interior design.

R2 watched him float from one room to the next. His movements were smooth and sweeping instead of strict and jerky.  He wondered if his partner noticed a grand difference in the stretch that he could extend his arms, or the length of his stride.

“We’ll go to the marketplace for everything we need tomorrow. It’ll be a good way to get to know the community.”

3PO’s exploration of the house came to a stop in front of the smaller droid, who had not moved to explore the house at all. It was not like R2 wasn’t excited about their new residence, but he knew that what would make it a home was 3PO. What made his friend happy would suit them both just fine.

For the second time, nervousness shadowed 3PO’s face. He lowered his eyes to the floor and drummed his fingers quietly against his side. R2 wondered if that was a response embedded in this new form’s function, such as the blinking, or if already 3PO was becoming more human.

“And… when we meet them, I’d like to start using a different name.”

3PO’s voice decrescendoed to the same tone that sought approval. R2 said nothing so 3PO felt the need to rationalize his wish,

“I just think a human name would be more appropriate now. Less questions asked.”

 _”If someone did ask,”_ R2 blipped,  _“you wouldn’t tell them you’re a droid?”_

“No, of course I would. I’m not hiding anything.”

_”Except you are.”_

R2 decided then that being able to watch his friend react to his words was a privilege; something not to be forgotten or abused. Before, 3PO’s stationary face plate concealed his emotions well, but now, R2 realized how exposed he was.

Worry flooded his partner’s face. His brow knotted upwards and his lips pursed thin. Every expression was new, fascinating, but this one didn’t suit him. 3PO probably didn’t even know he was doing it, how much he was telling R2 without saying anything.

”I did this for us.”

R2 caught himself, finally,

_”I know. I know it’ll be easier to start over this way.”_

“So what’s wrong?”

Funny how even without expressions of his own, R2 was just as readable to 3PO. He owed his friend his honesty,

_”We were always a team. The two droids. I just don’t want you to one day realize that you have more in common with humans than you do with me.”_

The knot in 3PO’s brow remained but his eyebrows eased upward in empathy. Approaching the smaller droid slowly, 3PO fell to his knees and embraced him. When he spoke, the words came from him slowly, carefully, to make sure he was absolutely understood,

“I will  _always_  have more in common with you that anyone else in this universe. Not because we’re both droids, but because of all that we’ve been through together.”

Droids function long enough to see creatures through hundreds of generations and countless lifetimes, no one should know change was more inevitable than they. But some things were constant. Some things would always stay the same.

The silence that followed was filled only by the faint sound of 3PO stroking his fingers over the metal dome of R2’s shell. The touch couldn’t be felt by the astromech droid, but the motion still meant the same thing.

It was just as when they were aboard a vessel and would gaze out into the limitlessness reaches of space and 3PO would place a hand atop him, just to let him know that this was something they were experiencing together.  
  
“I’m sorry you don’t like the way I look now, but I promise you: I’m still the same.”

 _”I like how you look,”_ the astromech droid beeped, the red light of his front panel coming as close to a robotic flush as was possible.

“Truly?” 3PO asked, retracting from the embrace to come back into R2’s visual censors.

“ _Yes. It’s perfect.”_ R2 blipped, a statement he should have conveyed immediately in the upgrading facility.

And he meant it. 3PO was exactly as he should be—not too short, not too tall, not overly muscular, not under sculpted. 

He did not have the physique of an athlete, but the body of a linguist who would have devoted much of his time to reading and studying, if 3PO actually had spent the first half of his life as a human.

Later that evening 3PO commented that clothing was something he would need to buy at the market tomorrow.  
  
R2 watched and listened to him talk the rest of the night, persuading his memory card that this was the new C-3PO now.

 

\--

 

The market was an open bazaar, comfortably arranged with various shops that sold everything that was needed to sustain its surrounding inhabitants. The sun was high and white. This particular planet only had one sun but it warmed the ground well and supported verdure that was pretty near idyllic. It also had three moons which they liked to watch rise.

3PO talked as they approached the colorful little town,

“I think I should like to go by the name Atlas. Just when we’re in public.”

 _”From Greek mythology?”_ R2 responded.

A new expression graced 3PO’s face today: genuinely impressed.

“I’m surprised you know of him, your functions don’t really require you to be familiar with myths, especially one that old.”

_”Believe it or not, sometimes I listen when you talk.”_

3PO’s favorite things to talk about were the things he knew best: languages, human mannerisms, cultures and, occasionally, the lore and legends of certain civilizations. R2 was certain he’d heard this particular one mentioned before. 3PO elaborated,

”Atlas was said to support the celestial sphere of ancient astronomy on his back. I sort of feel like that was our job as well.”

3PO smiled and nodded at a passerby, who returned the gesture before continuing,

“We never could have defeated The Empire on our own but, without us, there were times when our human friends would have surely failed. We were the essential support to the upholding of the universe.”

In that context, the name made sense and R2 thought it was appropriate. Though he would always prefer his friend’s model number, if any title were to replace it, this one suited him well.  
  
The first stand that they explored was, naturally, one that vended clothing. R2 knew 3PO was excited about the concept of dressing himself and decided to let him do that first.

The shop front was draped and decorated with overhangs of beautifully dyed cloth, run by a polite elderly woman who 3PO approached,

”Hello there, madam, I am looking to purchase new attire today.”

If R2 could have expressed amusement, he would have at that. 3PO had always prided himself so very deeply on being a protocol droid, equipped with the knowledge and etiquette of millions of cultures, and yet even the mechanic could tell that statement was overly proper.

Perhaps 3PO’s rigid formality would dwindle the more he interacted with people who treated him like a person in return, now that he would no longer be getting the careless, almost rude responses that he was used to receiving as a droid.

His smile was also a little too extravagant, even though R2 was quite sure that 3PO really was that happy. R2 had glimpsed his friend practicing his facial expressions all night long in the mirror. He knew this too would be perfected in time.

The astromech droid honestly did want things to be easier for 3PO in his new body; he only hoped he wouldn’t become  _too_  human. After all, it was that awkward, flustered droid on the inside that he’d grown to love.

Fortunately, the vendor was very kind and told 3PO of how she dyed and sewed all the clothing for sale there herself, to which he responded with much compliment to her skill.

She then went on to note that she hadn’t seen him around the marketplace before and he disclosed that they were new in town, without offering any complicated detail,  
  
”My partner and I just moved here,” he said, amiably placing a hand to the back of R2’s dome.

3PO didn’t think anything of it, which comforted and reassured R2 in a way that couldn’t be described as anything other than swelling gratitude.

Not droid, but  _partner._

R2 inwardly chided himself for ever thinking that 3PO would wish to adopt a master/droid façade when in public.

Sunlight shown through the slits of the overhang where the cloths opened space for it as the breeze moved them. Occasionally, the light would fall on 3POs’ eyes which were amber in normal light but in the sun they were a familiar gold.

R2 was so focused on them that by the time he realized he was distracted, 3PO had already secured his purchase.

”Three shirts, three pants, and a pair of shoes. That should be enough, right? For now, I mean.”

R2 really had no idea, but he supposed they would. The next few stops they made were for mechanical things: parts for R2’s projects, spare circuits in case something on him came loose, extra oil, and the like.

Price would never be a problem, as their part in the saving of the galaxy had secured them a limitless retirement fund, so they tirelessly perused ten more stands which served them well.

Still, the two saw no need to indulge or overspend and there was not much either wanted other than to live their lives simply and peacefully.

3PO spent the day practicing his facial expressions with the people that he met and R2 was happy to see him receive respectful reactions from the people he asked for directions. The town was lively and the locals jovial, for the most part.

Their eleventh stop, unfortunately, was not so pleasant.

”Get him out of here, we don’t serve their kind,” the storekeeper snarled.

”I beg your pardon?” 3PO asked, aghast.

The owner motioned to R2 with a rude jerk of his jaw. It was not the first time that they had heard those words.

It was incredible and disappointing that even in this sophisticated day in age, when the toleration of different cultures was everyone’s second nature, there were still those who refused to recognize droids as a culture of their own.

Things were better for droids now, certainly, but racism was a hard thing to kill.

R2 plainly shifted his gears into reverse, but 3PO held him there, placing a hand on his left stand like he would clamp a human on the shoulder,

”Then you, sir, do not serve me either.”  
  
And with that, they left the store together.

Silently, they decided that they’d done enough shopping for the day.

 

\--

 

 _“I would have waited outside,”_ R2 beeped, honestly.

“That’s not the point,” 3PO replied, running his slender fingers through his hair as he closed the door behind them, “I will boycott all places that do not allow you in.”

_”Let’s not be ridiculous. This is a good thing; you can go places that we couldn’t go before. I’m not going to prevent you from doing that.”_

”You are my equal. I will tolerate no one who treats you as any less.”

3PO sighed and R2 was sure he was just doing it for emphasis, since he didn’t need to breathe. Wordlessly, 3PO placed their shopping bags on a table that had come with the house and walked over to sit directly on the floor next to R2.

Quietly, 3PO curled his knees up and leaned his head against the other droid.

This was the third time that 3PO had made sociable contact with him in his new body. It was a very human thing, to seek a physical connection. R2 couldn’t even feel the touch, it was but a reading on a scanner, but the reasons behind it remained the same.

The astromech droid wasn’t entirely sure how to respond and simply let his mechanisms whirr carelessly until he became a bit warm. R2 had a health reading built into his system to let him know when he required maintenance, how all his functions were operating, and even when he got a bit overheated.  
  
The direct correlation between the reading that his metal was getting the slightest bit warm and 3PO’s quiet hum suggested to him that the two may have corresponded.  
  
_”C-3PO,”_   R2 couldn’t stop himself from using his friend’s old name,  _“This new body…can it feel?”_  
  
There was the slightest pause before 3PO culpably admitted,  
  
”Well…yes. I know you had concerns that I was becoming too human-like and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I didn’t want to upset you.”

 _”I no longer have those concerns,”_  R2 conveyed in a long, low blip. It was a sigh of his own.

3PO had already proved his loyalty to him today by leaving the intolerant storekeeper's shop and R2 felt terrible for ever showing his distrust.

”You’re warm,” 3PO lazed, cheek still pressed to his friend’s metal side, “The market was warm, today. It’s a peculiar sensation. It almost makes one lethargic…like the sensation of running low on power, but you’re not, and it’s just relaxing.”  
  
R2 thought for a moment that he might understand, but then 3PO left him to go read and the astromech droid’s systems cooled down.

 

\--

 

R2 was beginning to develop a fondness for 3PO’s wardrobe. At first it seemed out of place to see him in reds or blues, but eventually it became normal and R2 would look forward to what 3PO would wear each day.

Initially, 3PO had purchased a white, gray, and black set of shirts and pants so that he could mix and match, but as he became more comfortable with the sensation of fabric and came to learn his size at the markets, he explored other options.

Recently though, 3PO had purchased an outfit that was by far R2’s favorite.

The pants were a modest beige but the shirt was a nostalgic brass color, the very color 3PO’s previous exterior had been, minus the luster.

 _”You look nice,”_  R2 beeped, because he knew 3PO would worry if he didn’t say anything. It was also the truth.

3PO smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. R2 concluded that this was becoming one of his friend’s subconscious habits. It was nice, in an odd sort of way. 3PO spent the first hundred years of his existence not being able to bend his arms, why shouldn’t he spend the rest of his life tucking back his hair?

It had been a month since they had moved in to the house, which now looked much more comfortable when complete with furniture. Complete for their particular needs, of course. There were no beds, no dining table, and no refrigerator.

They did, however, have a lavatory which had come with the house. 3PO insisted on keeping it in case they one day had guests. The conversation had gone along the lines of R2 suggesting they get rid of it and make the room into storage space and 3PO saying,

“What are we going to do if a guest comes over and, sometime during their stay, needs to use the restroom?”

R2 beeped, “ _Go home, we don’t have one.”_

And that was the first time he had seen 3PO split into laughter. It was almost magical.

They had met their neighbors, who were kindly enough, and were beginning to become familiar with the town and its residents.

They now knew which shops were the best for the parts that they needed and which to avoid due to droid-intolerant owners. Luckily, there was only the one and all the other shop owners were very accepting.  
  
One might ask what free droids would do without masters or instruction, but such things were not needed. Droids were designed to be helpful to humans, but not dependent on them, and R2 and 3PO functioned brilliantly under their own command.

R2 loved to build and had an endlessly long line of projects that he enjoyed working on. Anything that needed fixing around the house instantly became his hobby. They even made friends with one of their neighbors that way, for they had a broken stovetop that R2 was happy to repair.

The family was very grateful to them and, when the droids would accept no money, the wife baked 3PO a casserole which he accepted graciously without bothering to tell her that he did not eat.

3PO, on the other hand, loved to read. Sometimes he would read to gain knowledge—there were hardly any books in existence that would supply him with anything he did not already know about language or protocol—but he would occasionally pick up books on mechanics to learn about what his partner was doing, or he would satisfy his newfound appreciation for fiction.

He also had a determination to master writing by hand and found the mechanical phalanges of his new body so perfectly operational that the skill was developing quite nicely. Often times he would write while he listened to classical music and R2 knew that whenever Rachmaninoff was playing, 3PO was in a good mood.

R2’s two rooms had been turned into a supply room and a building room, 3PO’s had been turned into a library and a study, which had a closet for his clothes. The kitchen, they decided, would be extra space for both of them.  
  
Though both had different interests, what they enjoyed more than anything was each other’s company.

 

\--

 

R2 hadn’t given much thought to the fact that 3PO could feel until his friend had stepped on a tool that he had accidently left lying around.

3PO’s exterior wasn’t harmed, but he did jump back and choke on a yelp,  
  
“Oh, my.”

_“I’m sorry. You could feel that, couldn’t you?”_

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt, just pinched a little,” 3PO answered, sincerely unfazed.

R2 examined him for a long moment. 3PO was now fully accustomed to his new form. It was obvious in the way his expressions formed naturally, the way he would rest his chin on his hand when he was thinking at his desk, the way he would go outside sometimes just to feel the weather.

_“Do you like being able to feel?”_

3PO titled his head at the question, surprised by his partner’s interest,

“Yes. I suppose I do.”

R2 was pleased that his friend’s new form gave him happiness, but one of the things he realized that he missed was the ability to repair him when need be. He was useful to him then, he had known how he worked.

3PO’s old body was so easy to decipher, all circuits and metal and wire. R2 was made to fix machines, which 3PO used to almost be. R2 realized now that he knew nothing of synthetic flesh and responsive nerve endings.

He wondered if maybe 3PO also missed what he used to be able to give him.

_“Do you remember when I used to repair you?”_

“You reattached several limbs, that’s a pretty hard thing to forget.”

_“I don’t know how to fix you now.”_

3PO initially dismissed the statement with a short huff of laughter,

“Don’t worry; I’ve got a lifetime warranty.”

_“No, I mean: I miss knowing how. I miss being the first one you’d come to…if you needed anything.”_

Those words 3PO understood. Conversations as heavy as these seemed so much easier to have when they were level, so 3PO knelt as he did the first day he had come to inhabit his new body, expression burdened with concern.

And they both stared, wondering how to heal each other.

“You’re still the first one I come to if I need anything. Needing someone is more than only coming to them when you require something.”

3PO shrugged, trying to reassure his partner with a grin,

“So someone else handles my maintenance? That doesn’t even come close to what you give me when we reminisce about our adventures in space.”

On an intellectual and emotional level, which was all that he had, R2 felt complete when with 3PO. But now, 3PO had a feature that R2 couldn’t even begin to understand, and R2 wondered if 3PO felt equally complete with him.

What would happen when the day came that 3PO needed more than just maintenance?  What if he were to cry? What if he were ache for something tangible? What if he needed to be touched and held and comforted?

What if he needed to be loved?

Though 3PO assured R2 that everything he already was would always be enough for him, R2 couldn’t help but dwell on the type of connection they couldn’t have.

 

\--

 

After three months of on and off practice, 3PO became quite skilled with calligraphy. One day, R2 had found that 3PO had taped a piece of parchment to his door that read  _R2-D2’s Work Room_  in incredibly elaborate blackletter.

It was pointless because the only two residents who lived there knew exactly what room it was without a label, but for some reason R2 really loved it.

The mechanic worked diligently, welding together the metal for his newest project: an oven.

The house had not come with one and the two droids had never thought they would need such a device, but one of the items 3PO had recently acquired for this ever-growing library was a cookbook. The protocol droid had become enthralled with the idea of baking a cake and bringing it to the neighbors.

R2 had even accompanied him on a trip to the town one day for the purpose of locating the produce stores. Having never needed them before, they had forgotten where they all were.

R2 wondered what 3PO would look like, fussing over things like milk, eggs, and butter. If it turned out that he liked baking as a hobby, perhaps they would need to acquire a refrigerator too. Slowly, more and more biological-serving appliances would creep into their home. Not that R2 minded, but the thought surprised him.

Calligraphy and now baking—3PO was picking up new hobbies every day. It was fascinating to watch, how much he could learn and how it thrilled him to aquire new skills. 3PO had never been happier.

R2 couldn’t say the same.

A clock. A radio. A speeder. An oven.

How many things had R2 built since they had arrived? Dozens, perhaps. He’d fix a million more, probably. He had the knowledge and the tools to.

But while R2 repaired what was old, 3PO thrived in what was new.

Every day R2 found something to appreciate about his friend’s reaction to discovering a new ability or taking up a new craft. Or, better yet, the smaller things: 3PO’s reaction to touching particular fabric at the market, the way he would close his eyes to revel in a breeze, the way he would sometimes stretch his arms straight out in front of him because now he could.

Still, R2 was never envious of 3PO. If there was any envy, it was of that fabric or breeze.

Or that vendor or had brushed fingers with him one time while handing 3PO his purchase.

Or the neighbor woman, who had hugged him farewell after they’d fixed her stove.

He had tried before to explain this in his own way. R2 had made 3PO understand that he recognized the loss of something—the ability to repair him. Yet, the most sincere words a being could ever utter would only ever be just that. Words: the most powerful and powerless things in the universe. R2 could beep and whirr and 3PO would understand, but at the end of the day, understanding a concept was nothing compared to demonstration.

He had always known this, the odd influence of words, for they were all he ever had to express himself with. Perhaps that’s why he was so sarcastic.

R2 loved restoring things; but as he stood, surrounded by enough tools to feed his hobby for an eternity and enough projects to keep him infinitely entertained, he found that all of their sum could not come close to the pleasure he would take in being able to return 3PO’s embrace.

 

\--

 

Astromech droids, as their name would suggest, were created for the purpose of fixing broken machinery; specifically, on spacecrafts. Their cylindrical body and dome fit perfectly into the wings of many ship models so that they may be at the ready should any damage occur.

R2 had been in his share of battles and had certainly been in his share of ships. He had received more use than the average repair droid was ever expected to.

Six months ago, R2 had deboarded the last space vessel he would ever fly upon. It had carried him here, to the planet he and 3PO now called home. As soon as his wheels touched the earth, he knew that chapter of his life had come to a close.

But the wonderful thing was: it was not sad. It was not even bittersweet.  What he felt now could only be described as unbridled excitement for what would come next.

R2 had done what had been expected of him and so much more. He held the past dearly in his memory circuits with no regrets, but the moment he came to the final stop on his interplanetary journey, he realized how exhilarating it would now be to have nothing but time with 3PO—time to spend to their liking, time to rest, time to thrive, time to begin a new life.

The mechanic had been created to repair ships but now, with no more space voyages in his future, it was clear that his purpose had changed. From here on out, he had a new purpose. He no longer had an obligation to countless bodies of machinery. Now, he could dedicate himself entirely to _one_. 

Realizing this was what made the choice so easy.

R2 sat upright, finding 3PO sitting devotedly at his side. There was no sight that his new, blue eyes would have found more perfect.

“Good morning, my dear friend,” the protocol droid choked, voice misty with relief.

It occurred to R2 then that 3PO’s hand was clamped around his own and that R2 could finally, actually _feel it_.

Having hands would be a new undertaking. It would be difficult relearning to perform his craft with fingers instead of probes, but if 3PO could master calligraphy in three months, there was no reason why the mechanic couldn’t learn to use a wrench.

In fact, it would be exciting to learn. It would be a new adventure, a way he could still do the projects he loved while moving forward. He couldn't wait to start learning something fresh and join 3PO on his journey of discovering new and fascinating things even after a hundred years of life.

And if it was difficult, he had someone to share it with; just as they had shared their escapades across the galaxy. They would help each other and learn together.

The height of the upgrading facility’s operating table was slightly taller than that of the chair in which 3PO sat. R2 moved to hang his legs over the side of the long counter and face his partner fully.

3PO was smiling now, fragile but blissful, like out of every wonder he had witnessed in the splendor of the universe, he had never seen a sight more beautiful than his friend waking undamaged.

“How do you feel? Is it…what you wanted?”

It was incredible how comfortable this new body was and how easy it was to find limbs that he never had. To lift his hand to cup 3PO’s face was fluid and natural, to rub his thumb over his cheek was second nature, and to fit their mouths together felt just has he had imagined doing so a thousand times.

The kiss was for when they reunited in the Jawa’s sandcrawler. When 3PO offered his parts to him after R2 was damaged in the battle against the Death Star. When 3PO told him to be careful when R2 left for Cloud City. When they watched the galaxy sparkle from a distance. When The Empire had fallen. When they made themselves a home.

All of those moments filled him now, flowing hot and strong through every fiber of his new body with the promise of a thousand instances more and countless adventures still to come,

“Absolutely.”

 

 

\--

 

The End


End file.
